The View From Here

Recently I was in San Diego for an event with Echelon Front. We stayed at the new Gaylord Resort in Chula Vista. When I opened the curtains in my room on the eighth floor, I wasn’t prepared for what I would see.

Spread out before me was Coronado, the Silver Strand, Imperial Beach, and beyond

them, Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery.

From where I stood, I could see the place where my son, Marc, is buried.

As my eyes moved across the landscape, they settled on another landmark—the Marc

A. Lee Training Center. One place represented the day we laid Marc to rest. The other

represented the legacy that continues because of the life he lived.

Just weeks before the twentieth anniversary of the day Marc sacrificed his life to save

his teammates, I found myself standing in silence, reflecting.

Then my eyes followed the Silver Strand south.

I could see the Naval Special Warfare base. The new buildings. The expanded

compound. So much has changed over the past twenty years.

Coronado was where Marc trained, laughed, prepared, and deployed. The old ST3 building where he worked is there. The Grinder where he began BUD/S alongside countless young men pursuing the same impossible dream of becoming a Navy SEAL is still there. North Island, where he departed for his deployment still sends SEALs to protect and defend us from.

Normally, when I’m in Coronado, I’m there….. on the ground. I’m walking those streets. I’m standing on the base. I’m focused on one location at a time.

But this time was different.

For the first time, I was reflecting from a distance and I was seeing the whole picture.

An entire generation has passed.

From where I stood, I could trace Marc’s journey—from where it began…to where it

ended…and where it still continues.

I thought about something Jocko Willink, Marc’s Task Unit Commander, shared during

Muster.

He told the story of an early training mission. His team had boarded an oil platform,

weapons up, eyes fixed through their rifle scopes, waiting for someone to make the call.

No one did.

Why?

Because everyone was looking through a narrow scope.

No one had stood up, looked around, and evaluated the entire situation. Jocko was the

new guy and he waited and when no one responded he stood up, took a look around

and evaluated the situation and made a call.

Sometimes leadership requires us to lift our heads, step back, and see what we cannot

see when we’re focused on only one piece of the mission.

Standing in that hotel room, I realized God had given me that perspective.

From there I could see where Marc started.

I could see where he served.

I could see where he deployed.

I could see Fort Rosecrans, where his swim buddy, Bobby Gassoff, placed the folded

American flag into my hands and said, “On behalf of a grateful nation.”

On the final night of Muster, after everything had wrapped up, I shared these thoughts with Jocko and Leif.

I told them how proud I was—not only of what they accomplished as Navy SEALs, but of the extraordinary impact they continue to make long after taking off the uniform and how their lives continue to honor Marc and their fallen brothers.

Then I shared the call I had made while standing in that hotel room.

I don’t know if God has another twenty years planned for me on this earth.

Only He knows that.

But from where I stood, looking over twenty years of sacrifice, service, healing, and legacy, my heart was filled with one simple conviction:

Let’s do this for another twenty years.

Not because the mission is easy.

But because freedom still has a cost.

Veterans still need healing.

Gold Star families still need comfort and hope.

Young warriors are still answering the call.

And as long as God gives us breath, there is still work to do.

Sometimes the greatest gift is simply standing up, looking around, and seeing the whole

picture.

The view from here reminded me…The mission isn’t over.

As I stood there looking over San Diego, overwhelmed by all that God has done over

these past twenty years, my thoughts turned to you.

Marc…

My son.

My hero.

My Mighty Warrior.

I couldn’t help but picture one of those mission planning rooms before a deployment.

The maps spread across the table.

The team gathered together.

Every man bringing his experience, evaluating the mission, asking questions, offering

ideas, thinking through every possible scenario because lives depended on getting it

right.

Then my imagination carried me somewhere else.

I found myself picturing you with God.

Not because I know exactly what Heaven is like, but because it brought me such peace

to imagine.

Almost like one of those mission planning sessions you knew so well, except now you

are with the One who already sees the beginning from the end.

The One who knows every veteran who is about to lose hope.

Every Gold Star family suffering their loss that will need someone to walk beside them.

Every patriot whose heart will be stirred to support the mission.

Every leader, every staff member, every volunteer, every donor He is raising up to

continue the work.

Every life waiting to be changed.

Somehow I imagine you looking at God’s perfect plan with the same passion you had

here on earth—wanting every life possible to be rescued, every mission accomplished,

every teammate brought safely home.

This weekend, Task Unit Bruiser will gather on the twentieth anniversary of your

sacrifice. They will reconnect, honor and remember you and celebrate your life that you

lived to your fullest.

Thank you, Marc, for one of your greatest gifts to me...your teammates.

From the beginning, I knew they were extraordinary men. But twenty years have built friendships that are beyond priceless. We have stood together through the darkest

valleys, celebrated the victories, carried this mission with me, and become family.

I love you and miss you every single day and look forward to the day we are reunited in Heaven.

Until then, I will continue by God’s strength to give everything I have to the mission God

has entrusted to me.

I will keep striving to live my life worthy of your sacrifice—and the sacrifice of so many

others who gave everything for our freedoms.

And if God grants me another twenty years… continuing to Make my Marc, following

your example.

I love you forever,

Mom

Marc gave his final breath for us, but the mission continues!

Please give as generously as you can.

Give $20, $200, $2000 or even $20,000 today to help us carry Marc’s legacy forward for another 20 years!

Kaui's Korner

Twenty years after Marc’s sacrifice, his story is still changing lives.

Thomas came to our program seeking help for the lasting effects of a traumatic brain injury. Through our program and healing therapies, he experienced meaningful improvements in his memory, concentration, emotional regulation, and impulse control. These changes were noticed not only by him, but by his family, friends, and coworkers. Now, he is turning that healing into a new mission by taking on the 10,000-mile Hoka Hey Motorcycle Challenge.

Thomas will carry Marc’s story across every mile while raising awareness and funds for AMW to help the next veteran find healing.

“This is my way of giving back for everything you’ve done for me.” Healing isn't just about getting better, it is about rediscovering purpose and turning gratitude into service.



Marc’s sacrifice created a legacy of service—and through veterans like Thomas, that legacy keeps moving forward.

Thomas, thank you for reminding us why we do this work. We’ll be cheering you on every mile.



“Freely you have received; freely give.” — Matthew 10:8

Stay the Course—and Stay Mighty.